The Sociopath and the Half-Demon
by LadyoftheNerdsP
Summary: 29 women in San Fransisco are dead. Why? Who dunnit? Lestrade is dragging Sherlock, Watson, Mary, and Anderson to the US to help the american police. Even more surprising, the Teen Titans jump in to help, beacuse why not, right? Sherlock & Raven pairing, I know this is uncharted territory but I am brave! Fine, maybe Moriarty can come too. Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)
1. Going to the States

**A/N: Hello, everyone! This is my second fanfiction, and if you like Adventure Time, check out my first fanfiction:**

_** A Night of Adventures**_

**Anyway, this story will have different POV's. The time is set after the Empty Hearse but before the Sign of Three, when things are relatively calm, which I know has aired in America, and I hope everywhere else as well. Please review!**

Chapter 1- Third Person

"John! We're out of milk!" Sherlock's voice travels throughout the flat, reaching the doctor's ears and causing him to groan in annoyance. He let his newspaper rest in his lap as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Get it yourself, then! Maybe you'll scare some little kids on your way there!" he calls back, but knows the argument is over before it began. Sherlock walks in the living room, where Watson is already putting on his coat and grabbing his keys. The detective smirks.

"Get some honey, too," Sherlock adds, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a syringe filled with liquid. "Need to stop by Molly's," he mutters to himself. Watson rolls his eyes and trudges out of the flat, locking the door behind him. As Sherlock moves back into the kitchen, he steps _over_ the chair instead of around it, which is one of his habits as a high-functioning sociopath, absent-minded in the field of common sense.

In the kitchen, on the table, is a foot. _Right foot belonging to a caucasian male, died in late fifties. Cause of death: heroin overdose. _The information races through Sherlock's mind. _Shame he was so careless, we could've been drug buddies, _Sherlock jokes. _But John said I couldn't do anything but nicotine patches, so I guess it was for the best, _Sherlock counters. Having such conversations with himself happened often, and they were natural.

"Back to work!" he exclaims out loud, smiling at the syringe in his hand.

* * *

With three bags on each arm, John Watson parades down the street, passing a television shop.

_"There has been another murder in San Fransisco, California, in the US. Will they ever find out who has killed now twenty-nine women? Or will other intelligences need to interfere to help solve the case?"_

John stops dead in his tracks to process what he just heard, and turns toward the woman on the screen. Twenty-nine women? The interference of other intelligences? The doctor suddenly had a feeling that he wouldn't come home to just Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

"Sherlock! This is serious, pay attention to what I'm saying!" Lestrade was losing his patience, as the consulting detective was still fiddling with the foot. Sherlock frowns and drops his syringe on the table in defeat, turning to look at the inspector.

"Fine, then. What do you want?" Sherlock asks, huffing. At that moment John's keys clicks in the lock and he opens the door, smiling when he sees Lestrade glaring at Sherlock.

"I knew it," he mutters. "You're here about the string of murders, right? Other intelligence?" he asks. Lestrade nods, happy that somebody's finally paying attention to him. The word "murder" jerks Sherlock back to attention. He extends his hand to Lestrade.

"Files, please." The inspector gives him a look then starts to laugh. The detective shoots him a look, both confused and exasperated.

"You didn't hear it all, Sherlock. The murders were in San Fransisco. In America. If you want the files, you'll have to ask them. In person," Lestrade explains, smiling. "Scotland Yard already arranged to fly us there. As much as they didn't want others to get involved, they still want to know who did it, no matter how much they have to sacrifice. And they seem to have a treasure of their own."

With that he picks up the laptop on Sherlock's desk, showing them the screen. "The Teen Titans, or that's what they call themselves. They're superheroes, but even they need the help of a high-functioning sociopath to figure this out. Although I don't see why they still call themselves teens. There's Victor Stone, or Cyborg, who's twenty-four. Then there's Raven, who's twenty-three." Lestrade explains, obviously puzzled at the American bunch. Sherlock tilts his head, analyzing each face. He could deduce a few things just by pictures, but he could deduce everything in person. _Except when it came to the Woman, _Sherlock countered, frustrated yet amused at the memory of long ago.

"Raven? Doesn't she have a real name as well, like Victor Stone?" Watson asks, snapping Sherlock back into reality. He pulled the thought right out of the detective's head.

"That's what I thought, too. I guess we'll find out when we meet them," Lestrade answers. Sherlock's eyes widen, but he's slowly losing interest.

"Meet them? Why are they coming here?" Sherlock asks, wondering what Lestrade could mean.

"They aren't coming here, Sherlock. We're flying over there to help solve the case!" Lestrade explains, as if he were a parent telling their child they will have a younger sibling. Sherlock didn't see the news as good, though.

"Go away? To America?" he scoffs, leaning back in the chair he had just sat in. John seems delighted, a smile on his face as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

"That would be wonderful! I'm going to go pack my bags, when do we leave?" John asks, eager.

"Two days from now. You, me, Sherlock, Molly, our top detectives, and Anderson are-"

"Oh, not Anderson! Couldn't you have gotten someone else to come?" Sherlock interrupts, closing his eyes as if the thought pained him. It probably did, in a way.

Lestrade shoots him a look, but in a way he agrees. "As I was saying, Mary could come too, if she'd like. I've heard she's very perceptive, and you couldn't leave your lady for so long. We want to stay until we solve the cases, but we have to leave after about a year, so we're renting a rather large house for all of us," he explains, somewhat cheery. He sees Sherlock roll his eyes and adds, "for God's sake, Sherlock, you're a bloody consulting detective! We're consulting you so pack your damn bags and get ready to take a trip to the States!" With that he sighs and leaves, greeting Ms. Hudson as she walks in.

"I heard every word, and I'm so happy for you boys. And Mary! Oh, John, you could get married in San Fransisco, on that bridge that's so famous!" she exclaims, her small voice full of genuine happiness, a feeling only Mrs. Hudson could bring out.

"That's a good idea, Mrs. Hudson. I never thought of getting married in America," the doctor smiles. Sherlock still sits in his chair, his head tilted back as far as it could go. Mrs. Hudson glances at him and purses her lips.

"Sherlock, you're going to pack your things and solve those murders, and you're going to like it!" she exclaims, huffing and stomping back downstairs. The detective groans.

"Mrs. Hudson can sometimes be more persuasive than my mother," Sherlock mutters before sauntering into the kitchen to work on another "small" experiment. John pulls out his phone and sends Mary a text. _Can we have dinner and talk tonight? I have something to ask you._ A few minutes later he gets a reply, the phone's vibration running up his arm. _I'd love to talk over dinner. Ask me anything. :)_

* * *

John checks his watch for the fourth time that night. He still got butterflies when it came to Mary, but she just said it was because her intelligence intimidated him. The restaurant wasn't five-star, but it was a nice little Italian joint not far from Baker Street. Ever so slowly Sherlock was warming up to the idea of traveling to America, which pleased the doctor even more.

"John!" Mary's voice came from down the street. He turned to her and held out his arms. She walked right into them for a brief embrace. She pulled away and they headed inside, seating themselves and eyeing the menus.

"I'm sorry I'm late, John, but you know how traffic is at this time of night," Mary says as the waiter approaches them, a smile on his face. John takes a quick glance at Mary to see her stuffing something black deeper into her handbag.

"Welcome, welcome! May I start you off with some beverages?" he asks, obviously from Italy from his accent, so this must be a family owned restaurant. John suddenly felt like Sherlock, automatically deducing things from small observations. So, John and Mary ordered their beverages, and the happy waiter left.

"So, John, what was it you wanted to ask me?" Mary questioned, grinning. She loved surprises, but loved to hear answers even more. John takes her hands, his thumb brushing over her engagement ring.

"Have you heard about the string of murders in America? San Fransisco, to be more specific," John asks, not entirely sure how to tell her. Mary nods her head slowly, uncertain where this is going.

"Well, Sherlock, Lestrade, some others and I have been recruited to help the American police solve the cases!" he exclaims. "And Lestrade said that you could come with us. Imagine it, Mary! You and me in San Fransisco, for possibly a year! What do you say?" he asks gently. Mary stares at the table, processing the news. SHe then looks up at John.

"What do I think? Just leave London for a _year_ because my fiancée has to solve a murder?" Mary asks, her tone frightening John. After seconds of tension seem like hours, she smiles and bursts out laughing. "Of course I'll go to San Fransisco with you, dumbo! But you did piss me off," she replies, and all the air slowly escapes John. He starts laughing too. "So when do we leave?"

"Two days from now."

**A/N: Hello again! I hope you enjoyed my first chapter, and if you did review in the box below! If you didn't like it, make yourself useful and tell me what to fix in the box below! I want to have a Sherlock/Raven pairing out of this, but I know I might be the only person who's ever thought of this, so support me or shoot me down. I think it might work, with your help and guidance mixed with my *flips hair* wonderful writing skills. Haha, anyway, review please! :)**


	2. It's All in the Journey

**A/N: I'm getting support, yay! By the way, Sherlock is on Netflix, Amazon, and WSRE. I'm sorry for not updating! Enjoy the chapter!**

**Diclamimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters, and being a crazed Cumberbitch, that's probably a good thing. Good for Benedict Cumberbatch, at least. :)**

Chapter 2-Third Person

Sherlock smiled the whole ride to the airport, his knee bouncing as they neared the parking lot. The doctor stared at him as if the detective had grown a second head, and Sherlock did notice as the two made their way to the main entrance where Molly, Mary, and the others were waiting.

"What is it?" he asked, all signs of his good mood gone. John turned to him, stopping in front of the group. The doctor's eyebrows narrowed.

"What do you mean? You've been smiling like a loon ever since we got in the car. You don't think I wouldn't notice?" he replied, rolling his bags to Mary and kissing her cheek, which signaled the end of the conversation. Sherlock grunted and rolled his bags to Molly, who blushed. Sherlock glanced at her and smirked.

"Oh, Molly. Things not work out with your boyfriend? I do hope you don't cry," he mutters before kissing her forehead and walking inside to find Lestrade at the ticket desk. Molly freezes, and John and Mary stare at her. Molly's eyes narrow for a second before she shakes her head and follows Sherlock to the desk.

Once everyone has their tickets, they attempt to find the gate. "4a! Gate 4a!" Lestrade shouts, glaring at the ticket. As everyone scrambles around, looking for the gate, John stops.

"Where the hell is Sherlock?" he asks, and Mary turns her head and starts laughing. He turns to her, the doctor's eyebrows arching. "What's so funny, Mary? We have half an hour and we have no idea where the gate or Sherlock is!" Mary shakes her head, still chuckling. Yet she's able to raise her finger and point to the place of commotion. John slowly turns to where she's pointing to and almost bursts out laughing himself. He would've if he wasn't already so exasperated.

There sits Sherlock at a small café table, enjoying a cup of tea. He is literally right next to gate 4a and seems completely oblivious to the rest of the group as he concentrates on the small phone in his hand. Molly is the first to walk over to him, putting her hands on her hips as they have a discussion inaudible to the remainder of the pack. Anderson taps Lestrade's shoulder.

"Sir, we have 15 minutes before we have to worry about boarding. Could we get some coffee or tea while we wait?" he asks. Lestrade nods, and everyone perambulates to the cashier, licking their lips. Molly and Sherlock must have gotten over whatever they were 'talking' about.

* * *

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" John's voice fills the detective's ears. But he sounds muffled, like he's speaking under water. Then the detective realizes his head is slumped against a hard surface, and he is sitting back in a chair, but it's not his chair. It doesn't feel like home, or else Mrs. Hudson would be waking him.

"Hn," a small sound escapes Sherlock's mouth as he raises his head, his eyelids slowly peeling back. Then he remembers. He's in an airplane which is completely empty except for two of them and a frustrated flight attendant.

"Sir, you have to leave right now, or we'll let passengers board this plane with you on it," she hissed, obviously fed up. The detective chuckles and stands, but he stood too suddenly, so he grabs the chair in front of him for balance. He flashes a smile at the attendant, and her anger falters, her cheeks reddening for a second before she regains her composure and gestures to the door. Sherlock shuffles into the aisle and 'boops' the attendant's nose as he passes her. John shakes his head and follows the detective.

"Do tell your husband where you are, I'm sure he's worried!" Sherlock calls before exiting. John can hear the woman stuttering behind him. The doctor turns to face her, his face a mixture of amusement and sympathy. The attendant's eyes asked the question he'd gotten so used to answering.

"He's Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. He forgets his pants, and I blog about it," Dr. Watson states, turning and exiting the plane to catch up to his best friend.

* * *

Once at the baggage claim area, John turns to Sherlock. "How did you know?" he asked, astounded yet again by the detective. Observant was an understatement. Sherlock turns to him and smirks.

"Well, John, she had a faint tan line ringing the forefinger on her left hand near the knuckle, suggesting she had removed the wedding ring not too long ago but had lived in a sunny place when she did wear it. Florida, she lived in Florida when she wore it because of a tattoo of an alligator over the outline of the state, where it was poorly attempted to be covered with her sleeve. Two weeks ago a job offering for a flight attendant was in the papers, so she must have taken the job when she came here with her new _boyfriend. _An affair, and a rather sloppy one at that. How do I know? Her lipstick was smudged, and a tie was thrown into a seat a few rows back. They were snogging when everyone got off, or rather, when they thought it was empty. That's why she wasn't in a very good mood when she found us. I suspect the boy was hiding in the bathroom as this played out. How do I know the husband was worried? Her smart phone was sticking out of her pocket, and the light in the corner was flashing green, indicating a new message or messages. She was also dressed in high-quality clothes and wore too much expensive perfume, so she was well cared for."

John stood there, dumbfounded, as Sherlock perambulated to the conveyor belt holding the luggage. He grabbed his bag and met with the others, who were clustered around a map of the city. _Observant is an understatement, _the doctor thought as he grabbed his bag and rolled to the others. A small smile crept on his face as he imagined the look on the flight attendant's face as she tried to figure out how the man had done it. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.

"Excuse me? Are you Lestrade and his group?" a voice from behind asked. It was higher, like a woman's, but confident. The said pack turned to find a police officer, indeed a woman, staring at them sternly. Lestrade moved to the front of the group and extended his hand, but dropped it when she didn't shake it.

"Yes, I am Lestrade, and this is Sherlock, Watson-"

"Sir, we can have our introductions later. Now, we need to get you to the house, before _they _arrive," she cut in, turning around and signaling them to follow. Lestrade quickly caught up to her, intrigued yet concerned about _"they"_.

"What do you mean? Who are _they_?" he asked. The corner of her mouth flickered slightly, but they kept walking toward what seemed to be the exit.

"They are relentless, loud, and powerful. They have the technology and determination to delay our operations and desecrate our purpose," she explained, emotionless.

"Yes, but who are they?" Lestrade asked once more, exasperated and slightly frightened. She stopped and turned to the group. Besides the background noise, no one said a word.

"They are the American fangirls and paparazzi," she answered, and just then a high-pitched scream filled the giant room. Within seconds they were surrounded by teenage girls and adults with large cameras that blinded them everytime a picture was taken.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! GIVE ME YOUR CHEEKBONES!" one girl shouted. The officer cleared a small path with the wave of her arms, and they all took off at a run to the door, not ten yards away.

_Whoosh! _At the last second the group had escaped and the door was locked by an employee, blocking the beasts within. "In the cars!" someone shouted, and the group broke into two, sliding into the police cars that took off as soon as the door closed.

In the first car were Anderson, Molly, Lestrade, Sherlock, and the female officer. Once they were on the main road, the officer cleared her throat and talked from the driver's seat. "I'm glad you're all okay. I just got a buzz from Jeff saying the others are all right, too. I'm Anna, by the way."

Lestrade takes a deep breath and turns to face the group from the passenger seat. Anderson sits at the left window, catching his breath, and Molly sits between him and Sherlock, clutching the detective's arm, her face buried in his shoulder. The inspector **(Lestrade)** starts chuckling.

"You all right there, Molly?" he asks, and she nods, slowly removing her face from him and letting go of his arm. Sherlock has a look of amusement on his face.

"What is so special about my cheekbones? I thought I was going to die in there, I'd rather be locked in a room with the Woman," he mutters, suddenly interested in the city visible from the window.

Large buildings with several glass windows line the streets like walls, yet every block or so a small patch of green provides shelter for birds and grass-lovers. Homes of different sizes start to cluster, so they must be passing a neighborhood. The city seems to stretch for miles until finally they arrive at a large house by the dock. It's clearly empty, but not abandoned. In fact, it looked as if it had been recently remodeled, its windows glimmering and its clean white walls shining. It wasn't too fancy, just large, definitely big enough for the group of nine. Anna parks in the driveway and turns to the group once more. The second car isn't very far down the road. Anna smiles, but it still seems stern.

"Welcome to America."


	3. First Impressions Part 1

**A/N: I'M DEDICATING THIS STORY TO ADELINE! So so so so so so sorry for making you wait.**

Chapter 3- Sherlock's Point of View

The house that we had driven up to wasn't worthy of being called a mansion, but it was rather large and seemingly roomy. The white walls made the house appear sophisticated yet not overcomplicated, which created a relatively discreet look that we would need in our endeavors to catch the murderer, or, quite possibly, murderers. As the second car rolled to a stop next to us, I came out of my train of thought and exited the car to allow Molly to slide out and shut the door beside me. She stared at the building that we would call home for potentially a year, smiling with excitement and anticipation. Molly's smile was lovely and innocent, and though those emotions weren't substantial to me, my heart had swelled just a bit ever since I met John. He dragged me through humanity kicking and screaming, I suppose.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, do you want to come inside or stay out here with your hand on my shoulder?" a familiar voice snapped me out of another daze. Molly was staring at me, eyebrows raised, as I stood there, motionless and rigid, with my hand firmly planted on her shoulder. I quickly removed it and perambulated to the door where everyone, well, almost everyone, waited silently.

Anna clears her throat and slides the dark key into the keyhole, creating a loud _click _that resonates throughout the silent dock. Slowly, the door is pushed open and the assemblage cluster in the foyer. As I look around, I hear the gasps from Mary, and conclude that it is rather impressive. A giant chandelier hangs above our heads, its glass shards twinkling around the wooden ceiling panels. In front of us is a small table with a bowl filled with keys. Anna takes the keys from the bowl and passes them out to us. On the key chain, our name is stamped onto a leather card. I examine my key ring; it has a house key, a key to a room, marked by a number, and the said leather card. _Sherlock Homes, _it reads.

"Could you at least get my name right?" I ask, suddenly realizing I had said it aloud. John glances at my card and chuckles. "You Americans are quite distinguishable folk, then," I remark, smirking. Anna's cheeks turn a light shade of crimson, but she clears her throat and heads for the door, shielding her face with her shoulder.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Holmes. In an hour two more cars will be here to take you to the tower," she says, opening the large oak door.

"Wait. Tower?" John asks, perplexed, as always. _Somebody didn't do their homework,_ I think to myself, rolling my eyes. Anna tilts her head.

"The Titans Tower, where you'll meet the Teen Titans," she replies, then shuts the door softly. A minute later, a revving of an engine signals her departure. Lestrade finally speaks up.

"Well then, that gives you an hour to unpack your things and explore," with that we all break off up the stairs.

_"Now Sherlock, which room is the one? My number is 12, and it's the one by the window, on the far end. _So I lifted my bags and trudged to the door, pulling out the room key and sliding it in. With a _click _and a push, the dark wooden door slowly opens to a large blue bedroom. The bed was queen sized an only slightly used, its royal blue sheets folded neatly and tucked snugly. A white-washed vanity sat in the corner along a wooden dresser next to the bed. On the other side of the room was a tan leather easy-chair and an oak book shelf that towered over me, all of its shelves filled with books except for the top one, for personal items, I suppose. The theme of the room seemed extremely appropriate for a house so close to water.

"Well then, let's get to unpacking," I proclaim to myself, setting (more like tossing, actually) my suitcases on the bed.

* * *

**An hour and thirty minutes later...**

There are only six more rounds on my gun. Technically it belongs to the San Fransisco police department, but John wouldn't let me bring my trusty gun with me to the airport, so I had to make do with what I had. Just as I am about to aim at the newly painted smiley face on the wall, four sharp knocks distract me. In an instant I am able to deduce the knocks belong to the police officer that will take us to the tower. Lestrade opens the door to a corpulent officer with an itchy beard, proving my deductions correct once again. the inspector (Lestrade) turns to me.

"Go gather everyone, we're going to the tower now."

* * *

**At the Titans Tower****...**

The ride was treacherous, as the police officer, "Mr. Jack" as he liked to be called, acted as a tour guide the whole way there. I seemed to be the only one who didn't enjoy it though.

Once we had left the boat that docked on the small island, we could see a person standing at the door, though we couldn't make out who it was. Upon coming closer we realized it was Raven, the mystical titan. She certainly wasn't a teenager anymore. Her indigo cape flowed to the ground, her hood pulled down. She was wearing a black dress that narrowed at the waist and revealed her legs. A large belt of gold medallions shown at her waist, and black boots stretched to her knees. Her hands and forearms were concealed in black gloves.

I moved to the front of the group as she held out her hand. I shook it.

"My name is Raven," she greeted. Her voice was smooth and solemn.

"I am Sherlock Holmes," I replied with an equally solemn tone. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

My heart skipped a beat.


	4. First Impressions Part 2

**A/N: I love my readers so much! Thanks for putting up with me! **

Chapter 4- Raven's Point of View (I like playing with my POVs)

His name was Sherlock Holmes, and I couldn't help but smile at his peculiarity. My smile disappeared though as I felt his reaction towards my grin. My empathy could sense his heart rate elevating and his nervousness towards me. Yet the anxiety wasn't out of fear, but of…something else. Feeling my cheeks redden, I quickly turned away and opened the door to the entrance hall of the Titans Tower. Human emotions were unpredictable, and I didn't want to ruin this man's life. Hearing footsteps, I tuned in to my empathy and felt Dick (Robin) sauntering towards us. Once he emerged from the door, he grinned at me and glanced at the guests.

"Thanks for not scaring them away," he teased, and I stuck my tongue out at him. His hand reached up and squeezed my face, sticking my tongue out further. I slapped away his hand and laughed, shaking my head and perambulating to the elevator that would transport me to the main room. The whole time I could feel Sherlock's intense and curious eyes. They were beautiful, but sharp as daggers when his eyes were set, and I knew this despite having just met him only minutes ago.

As I sat down on the couch in the middle of the room, I didn't occupy myself, only waited for the group to emerge from the hallway door. The windows were concise and shining with the afternoon sun, its ultraviolet rays causing the water surrounding the island to glisten as if a billion diamonds had been cast upon it. It was a beautiful sight for most, and even I found it pleasant, but I preferred the dullness of dark rain clouds and the steady _pitter patter _of rain that could lull you to sleep. Yet on those days I wasn't sleeping; while my friends were playing video games, or training, or lamenting at the loss of the sun, I would be reading my books and practicing my sorcery. The magic seemed to flow better on dark days, but I had to be weary of Trigon's persistent influence, or it would take over, and everyone around me would be harmed. I couldn't let that happen, and _wouldn't_.

"…and this is the main room, where we have our meetings, meals, and just chill out," Dick explained to the assemblage as the door behind me slid open. I rose to my feet and turned to meet them; I didn't know why he was giving them a tour, it wasn't as if they were living here. However, I glanced at the group and went into the kitchen where Garfield (Beast Boy) was making a tofu sandwich. He turned, hearing my footsteps, and smiled, then turned back to his sandwich; he was completely oblivious to the fact that Dick and the group were clustered at the island of the kitchen, staring at my green friend in wonder. Rolling my eyes, I poked Garfield's shoulder. He turned to me, and I nodded my head in the direction of the mass. His eyes eventually trained on them, and when he saw them he nodded in realization.

"Oh, uh, hi!" he cleared his throat. "I mean, top of the morning to ya, lads and lassies! This twit been giving you any trouble, eh?" he asked, imitating a British accent. I rolled my eyes, groaned, and covered Garfield's mouth with my hand. The visitors were surprised, but Dick was fuming.

"Please don't mind this imbecile, he can't control it. His name is Garfield Logan, but you probably know him as Beast Boy. Feel free to smack him on the forehead if he does anything, and he heels like a dog," I explained, glaring at Garfield. I feel him open his mouth and quickly jerk back my hand before he licks it. When I pull back, he smiles and laughs, then bows to crowd of Brits, winking at the girl in the cat jumpsuit. She blushes and looks down at her feet.

"Well then, I'm going to get Vic and Kory. Make yourselves at home," Dick announces, and with one last glare at Gar, he struts to the door, leaving the group.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I clear my throat and break the silence. "Uh, how about we go into the living room and exchange names on the couch?" I suggest meekly. The shorter man with the sandy hair spackled with grey nods **(talking about John)**.

"Yeah, it'd be nice to break the ice a bit, if we're going to work on this case together," he says, and we all shuffle into the living room. All of the guests sit on the couch. Garfield sits on the floor in front of the window-wall, where he morphs into a cat and licks himself. I levitate beside him, floating cross-legged. Once again, awkward silence ensues. Then the man from earlier clears his throat.

"I am John Watson, and I blog about my escapades with Sherlock, yet they have decreased ever since I became engaged to Mary Morstan," he introduces, patting the hand of the woman sitting next to him, who must be Mary. She speaks after him, smiling. Her aura is calm and happy, but I can sense a secret, a black stain she struggles desperately to hide within her.

"I am Mary, obviously. I am engaged to John, and I am here because of my perceptiveness, and because John would never survive without me," she jokes, squeezing his hand. She definitely loves him, and it seems she would do anything to stay with him, to protect him. What could she be hiding?

Next to her, another woman smiles and begins. "I'm Molly Hooper, but I'm not really an important asset in this investigation. I know my way around a dead body, though, so I guess I am useful," she concludes, a sad smile rolling across her pale skin. Well, I should talk. My skin is grey.

After the rest of the people on the couch introduce themselves, it is Sherlock's turn. He clears his throat and stares at the floor, struggling to find the right words I guess. "I am, erm, Sherlock Holmes, and I am the world's only consulting detective. I know your life story just by glancing at you, so it is extremely difficult to keep a secret around me," he says slowly and solemnly. Mary shifts in her seat. His voice is low and fluid, which I found quite enticing. _No, _I mentally scold myself. _I can't develop feelings for him. _Now it's Garfield's turn, and he remains in cat form as he talks.

"I'm Garfield Logan, or Beast Boy. But you already know that. I can morph into any animal on the planet, but I will always be green. On the bright side, I never get pinched on St. Patrick's Day!" he jokes, standing and stretching. Once it's my turn, I lower myself to the ground, rubbing Garfield's kitty head for comfort. Just as I'm about to begin though, Dick, Victor, and Koriander enter the living room.

"We're breaking the ice by exchanging names. Come join the party," Garfield suggests, patting the seat next to him. The trio gather on the floor next us, and once again it's my turn.

"My name is Raven. I am half-demon, half-human, my father being Trigon, the most feared demon in the universe, and my mother is somewhere in Azarath, a temple-world. I was dumped here after the monks of Azarath had finished stripping me of strong emotions, because those were the most dangerous. Controlling my emotions means holding back Trigon's magic, a blessing and a curse. I'm dabbling in telekinesis, and I'm empathic, which makes it extremely difficult to keep secrets from me," I conclude, sinking back into my cloak. At one time it was the closest thing I had to a home. After I finish, a searing silence fills the room, but Dick decides to go next.

"I'm Dick Grayson, or Robin. I used to be Batman's sidekick, and before that I was the Boy Wonder. I am the leader of the Teen Titans, but we all get a say here," he says. Koriander smiles, and all of the men stare at how much she shows in her outfit.

"I am Koriander, or Starfire. I am an alien princess and a model in my spare time," she exclaims happily, her energy filling the room.

"I'm Victor Stone, or Cyborg. I got into a real bad accident at STAR Labs, and an alien killed my mother and mutilated me before my dad was able to shut this dimensional travel thing off. My current situation was the only way to survive," he explains, staring at his metallic feet.

After minutes of agonizing silence, Dick finally clears his throat. "Raven, how about you show our consulting detective the copy of the files?" he asks, and my eyes widen, but I nod.

"Uh, sure, but don't you want me to bring them here for everyone?" I ask.

"I've got the visual for everyone else. Mr. Holmes, I assume, would prefer solid facts to look over, while his copy is being made," he counters, and I nod again, standing. I sneak a glance at Sherlock, who isn't in his spot on the couch, but at the other side of the room, eagerly waiting at the door. I follow him then lead him to my bedroom.

"I was reading the files, again, before I saw your cars arrive. I believe there could be a connection, but I don't have a lot to go on, so I can't confirm it. I needed to see the bodies for real evidence, so maybe I could catch the last shreds of their auras before they completely disappeared, but they wouldn't let me. I think it's because of…_me,_" I look at him, but find him staring at the floor. We've been standing at the door for a while. "I'm sorry, really; I was just babbling. You shouldn't care, but I usually don't talk so much to one person at a time." I gulp, clamp my hand over my mouth, and open the door. He follows in after me, and I lead him to my desk. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him looking around curiously, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. My shelves are covered in spell books and the occasional skull; the black drapes are pulled over the window, the small lamp the only source of light. Everything is dark in my room except for the British man staring at the files.

"Do you mind if I sit?" he asks, gesturing to the bed. I frantically shake my head, and he takes a seat on the edge, spreading the twenty-nine files over the dark violet sheets. I want to smack myself; _why are there so many emotions? I just met this man, I don't fancy him._

After what seems like hours of me watching him read, he looks up at me. "What do you think the connection is?" I clear my throat and saunter to the files, his eyes on my face the whole time as I skim over the names, ages, pictures.

"All of the women have at one time been part of a symphony or orchestra that has played Bach's Partita No. 1, and all of them are under the age of sixty-five," I explain. "What could that mean, though?" I ask, dumbfounded.

Sherlock slowly closes his eyes and bows his head, his breath ragged. I grasp his shoulder and try to look in his eyes; his aura is a mixture of emotions, so many it is almost overwhelming. However, touching him was a mistake, as his feelings are so strong, the wind is knocked out of me and I sink to my knees. He kneels in front of me, trying to keep me up, but I shake my head and look at him, my gaze intense.

"What does that mean? You have so many emotions flowing through you, I can feel them, you must know something. Who could have done this?" I mutter. He clenches his jaw and draws circles on my shoulders with his thumbs.

"It means Jim Moriarty is alive, and is back to his old tricks," Sherlock answers. "Looks like I'm not the only one who came back from the dead."


	5. Revealing

**A/N: I'M SORRY! You must hate me, and I understand if you do, but I was a bit stumped writing this chapter. Also, sorry if my characters may be a bit OOC (Out Of Character). IT WOULD BE A BIG HELP if you suggested some ideas in the reviews or PM'ed me! I have a small outline for the story, but details given to me by my lovely readers would help immensely! THANKS! **

Chapter 5- Third Person

Raven grabbed Sherlock's large hands and held them in her own. "Moriarty? Is he the man who walked free? The reason you committed suicide?" she asked cautiously. She was nearly overwhelmed by Sherlock's emotions once again, especially when she mentioned his suicide; she slumped to her bed, pulling the detective with her.

"Yes and partly yes," he replied. "Moriarty is the world's only consulting criminal, my reciprocal, if you may. The only difference is that 'I am on the side of the angels', to quote the man. He found me quite interesting, so he started toying with me; he would make me solve murders that had hidden clues, and many other silly things. In the end he got bored with me, so I had to either kill myself or watch everyone-well, almost everyone-I cared about die. I wouldn't have had to do either while he was still alive, but he shot himself in the mouth before I could do anything," he explained casually, staring at their hands. Raven mentally kicked herself and pulled her hands away, but the detective glanced at her as if something was wrong.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything," Raven muttered, folding her hands in her lap, but Sherlock shook his head and grabbed them back into his firm, but surprisingly soft, hands. He gazed into Raven's eyes.

"As unnecessary and weakening as I feel sentiment is, this doesn't make me uncomfortable," he said. "It actually could be pleasant."

Yet Just as Raven was about to respond, Dick knocked on the door. "Hey, guys? Did you find anything yet? It's been an hour," he asked. Raven jerks her hands away and stares at the door, trying to regain her composure. She stumbles towards it opens the door to Dick, who is smiling.

"We have a suspect we feel is the one," she answered, watching as shock replaces Dick's smile. He clears his throat and nods.

"Well, that's awesome! Come into the living room so you can present us with your findings," he said, then saunters away, leaving Raven and Sherlock alone once again. Raven turns to the detective, but he has the files in his hands and is already out in the hall, staring back at her.

"Let's go, then," Raven muttered, closing the door behind her and levitating down the hall.

Once the pair reached the living room door, they were met by a mass of anxious eyes and bit lips. Raven and Sherlock moved in front of everyone to announce their findings. Sherlock started.

"When I entered Raven's room, she told me she might have come across a connection between the victims. After skimming over the files myself, I asked her what the connection was. She told me all of the women have at one time been part of a symphony or orchestra that has played Bach's Partita No. 1, and all of them were under the age of sixty-five," he looked at John as he stated the last part, and a look of realization washed over the doctor.

"So who could it have been?" Lestrade asked, tilting his head.

"Sherlock said it could only be Moriarty," Raven answered. "The piece the victims had once played was tied into the Reichenbach fall, where Sherlock jumped off of St. Bartholomew's Hospital." Raven closed her eyes and rubbed her wrist, controlling her emotions, though technically they were Sherlock's.

"So now we know our only lead is a dead psychopathic genius," Lestrade concluded, attempting a joke. No one laughed. Sherlock shook his head, almost to himself.

"I believe it is probable that Moriarty survived. If I did, who is to say he didn't?" Sherlock inquired, his eyes clouded with thoughts.

"This needs further pondering and looking into, which can easily be accomplished by the police and other authorities. I'll call them and propose the idea," Dick suggested, walking to the kitchen.

"Sweet! We've got a free schedule now! Let's pop in a movie!" Garfield exclaims, jumping to the entertainment center. Everyone squeezes together on the couch, except Raven who levitates in a sitting position beside them. All her life, she had been asked whether or not it was comfortable floating on thin air. She said it was, which was the truth.

Once the movie is in, Garfield morphs into a cat and hops into Raven's lap, purring. Raven chuckles lightly, running her hand down his fluffy green back.

**A/N: Bleh, I know, it was crappy! I'm sorry, but giving me ideas would help sooooo much more! Thanks, love ya!**


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